S 3545 
H5225 
5 

919 
lopy 1 



3n ^tx^t 



BY 

G. A. WHITE 
SHORT CREEK 
WEST VIRGINIA 






Cltxiiigltts 

3jt ^tx^t 



OCT 29 1919 



BY 



G. A. WHITE 
short'creek 
west virginia 



SZSZSH5"ESZSSSHSHSZ5Z5H5Z5Z5B5ESESZFESZ5dSZFS5HS1E 
'5^5HSE5ESE5^SHS55ZS3ESESZS^5HS^5HS?5ESHS■aSH5ceB 



TO MY READERS yQ^^\S^^oS^ 

I desire to offer an apolog-y for part of the contents 
of these pages; I had not intended to use some of 
these "attempts," but owing- to circumstances over 
which I had no control my most valuable M. SS. was 
destroyed or went astray, and a number of things of 
far more value found a similar destination. However, 
it is not my desire to burden you by reciting those 
occurances. 

Several acquaintances have insisted that I place 
this small number (partly discards) before you. The 
result is the copy you now see. Trusting that by 
^our reading, there may be a thought suggested v/hich 
will develop into good. They are at your consider- 
ation. Accepted or rejected. 
The thoughts of other men 
Should not pass unnoticed by; 
For oft a bubbling spring is found 
Where everything seems dry. 

— G. A. W. 



3. Meadowdale. 

4. The West. 

4. Potters Field. 

5. Then and Now. Written previous to with- 

drawal of U. S. Troops from Foreign Fields. 

6. The Old Maid. 

7. A Soldier. 

8. The Aeroplane. 

9. To a Returned Dollar. 

10. Two Roads. 

11. Man. 

12. Success. 

13. Dead or Sleeping? 

14. WHiich Is Best? 

15. The Nurse. 

16. Flowers. 

17. Heaven. 

18. Truth. 

19. The Best Boy. 

19. Hell. 

20. The Sculptor.' 

20. To a Daisy. 

21. Theodore Roosevelt (In Memory) of 

22. The River Ohio. 

23. The Indian. 



C1A533837 



MEADOWDALE 

A Country Church. 

Nestled down between the hills, 
Near the silent stream which flows 
Onward with many a crook and turn; 
To somewhere — no one knows. 

With its sing-le hand points heavenwards, 

A guide for all to see; 

It beckons to the erring" one. 

Whoever they may be. 

The ploughman as he tills the soil. 
That near it always yields 
The choicest crops; his fondest hopes, 
Its presence here reveals. 

Then when the week-end ushers in 
The Glorious Sabbath Day; 
Here's where the entire country-side; 
Quietly wend their way. 

To seek the blessings of their God, 
Whom they have served so long; 
They praise Him here with hearts atune 
In prayer and joyful song. 

Here in the quiet burial ground, 
In silent sleep, repose 
The forms of their dear loved ones; 
Forgotten all their woes. 

The lessons true — of Truth Divine 
Poured out upon the ear 
Of this dear folk, brings rest; 
And peace forever dwelleth here. 

The Spirit's presence here is felt, 
It spreads o'er hill and vale 
May God his iriches shower on thee 
Bhst, quiet Meadowdale. 



— G. A. W, 



Three. 



THE WEST 

Upon the hilltop oft I sit and gaze 
With discontent unconQuered in my breast; 
At scenes almost obscured by distance, 
That stretches on lorever — toward the West. 

At morn the sun peeps up and smiles, 

The earth blinks back and both are blest; 

Somewhere a beckoning- hand must move, 

For like a child, he wan-ders off — toward the ^Vesf. 

Two hemispheres this grain of sand includes, 
For long the Eastern one was thought the best; 
But words ard deeds, to all the world have proved 
The hands of progress, point — toward the West. 

Suppressions bov/ was broken, and burdens yoke 
No longer on our ancestors' necks found res:, 
They Hung it at the English Crown, 
Where their ships sailed out — toward the West. 

Ah, grandeur of those shades of Natu.'e's art. 
That greets the eye — when upon the mountains crest; 
The sun appears to hesitate and ponder o'er his journey 
As he onward wends his way — toward the West. 

When life is past, its scenes forever ended, 
And deaths cold hand upon our brow is pressed; 
I woi.dor, will that realm excel in splendor 
The one which seems to lure us on — towai'd the ■'\'est. 

— G. A. W. 
o 

THE POTTER'S FIELD 

Forsaken weed-entangled spot; 
Unto to the eyes of men; 
A picture you present, too sad 
To be described by pen. 

Adjoining this well-kept field. 

You seem quite out of place; 

Those grass-grown mounds unmarked. 

Reveal poverty and disgiaee. 

And yet I'm sure if all wero known 
Concerning" some who sleep. 
Bene a h this tanuled mass of weeds. 
The world itself would Vv^eep. 

Some worihy li^ouls lie buried here, 
^Vho strove with all their might; 
To lift the \v'eak — to down the wrong, 
And i-ut the vvurld to right. 



-G. A. W. 



Four, 



THEN AM) NOW 

NOTE: Written previous to the wthi-cira\val of 
America's forces from the World Conflict. 

When poor Belgium begged for mercy, 
'i o the German it was tun; 
lo behold them in their suffering; 
Did he spare them? Not a one. 

When old Hindenburg- and others. 
In gay Paree thought they'd dine; 
The shrieks of woman's voices. 
To their ears was music .^ne. 

All the pleas of these dear mothers. 
For their daughters chaste and fair; 
Brought no mercj-, but much jeering. 
Brought them nothing but despair. 

To the Hell Hounds of the Kaiser, 
Mothers wept and plead in vain; 
That their daughter.? and their sisters. 
Be spared from disgrace and shame. 

feut the answer of those wretches. 
Crazed with thoughts of victory; 
Were those deeds of German Kultur; 
Wrough upon humanity. 

Worse than all the drunken orgies. 
E'er committed 'neath the sun; — 
AVere tho.^e frightful scenes, enacted 
In the dug-out of the Hun. 

When he sank the Lusitania, 
And the Sussex, too, went down; 
Where was the mercy of the Hun? 
Or was there any shown? 

That all Avas fair, in love or war, 
Was applicable to the Hun; 
Until his dream had vanished, 
And we had him on the run. 

So now he begs for mercy, 
His eyes with tears are dim; 
Shall we give him his "just dues?" 
Or shall we pitv him? 

- (3. A. \V. 



THE OLD 31 AID 

She sat with care-worn visage, 

Her hair unkempt an<l gray; 

Her close-drawn fves had saddene-d looks, 

She could not drive away. 

They held no trace of recent tears. 

For many a year had flown; 

Since down her cheeks a glistening drop. 

Had ever dared to run. 

Her thoughts were of the bygone days, 

When she was blithe and young; 

The Doctor's son was her best beau. 

And she, the belle of town. 

Back thru the well remem'bered past. 

To scenes that once had been; 

In reverie, she strode with grace. 

Again the village queen. 

Once more the friends of other days, 

I.iingered near a little while; 

Each youth the other did out-try — 

To win from her a smile. 

But now time's wheels turn quickly. 

Thru the corriders of years; 

And the door that leads to present; 

Into view soon reappears. 

The Doctor's son is married now. 

His father's steps, his guide; 

And he to fame has risen. 

By patient steady stride. 

The many other proffered hands. 

Of youths now past their prime; 

Caress the brow of faithful ones. 

With reverence Divine. 

And as a leaf all seared and dry. 

Within the forest green; 

Or withered flov/er on In-oken twig 

She now appears to men. 

Fhe thinks all sweethnarts fickle, 

The youths unfaithful, mean; 

And often judces other lives 

By what her own has been. 

Two youthful lovers in the lane. 

Should be at home in bed; 

'Tis foolishnes to waste the time; 

And unwise to be wed. 

Before her name, quite boldly, 

"Miss" flourishes the page; 

She's world-wise old in wisdom. 

But never tells her age. 

Six. 



A SOLDIER 

A baby in a cradle lay. 

His expression calm and mild; 

'J'he mother's thou.yhts throutihout the day 

Were of her onl\- child. 

And when those tiny little feet, 
With careless childish tread; 
Did patter oft across the floor; 
Her dreams were onward led. 

Unto the time, when years would claim. 
Her boy to be a man; 
AVhen he, his place would gladly take. 
In the universal plan. 

The years pass by with seeming- haste. 
Childhood's dajs are o'er; 
A man at last, by the sea of life 
He stand.s upon the shore. 

When lol the country's call is heard, 
From every dale and glen; 
Aloud she cries and beckons. 
To the choicest of her men. 

And when the lines of ranks were formed. 
In the foremost row he stooo; 
Ready now to meet the foe 
And do as best he could. 

Bravely then he marched away. 
Nor faltered 'till he fell 
Upon a foreign battlefield; 
Thrice pierced by shot and shell. 

And when the fight was ended. 
Just Ve nve the set of sun; 
'j hey bore him gently olt the field. 
And whispered they had won. 

A smile crept slowly o'er his face, 
His eyes lit up with pride; 
He breathed a fond farewell to all; 
A hero then, he died. 

A nation mours his loss today; 
His death m?de many free: 
Let's not forget this .'sacrifice 
Was made for you and me. 



— G. A. W. 

Seven. 



THE AEROPLANE 

Behold the long-winged bird on high, 
How gracefully it glides; 
With unerring instinct back and forth; 
In ever increasing strides. 

Rocked in its cradle of the clouds, 

It seems to be at rest 

As it hovers a while, then wheels about 

As an eagle guarding her nest. 

Can it be wounded, or lost in flight. 
Such antics to perform; 

It staggers and reels like a drunken man. 
Or a ship in the midst of storm. 

But Ah! the grace with which it moves. 
Reveals at a single glance; 
The downward plunge or spiral turn, 
Is not a move of chance. 

But that well directed thought. 

And Action both combined 

The factors are, that choose the course; 

And not the freak of winds. 

But 'tis no bird, of this I'm sure, 
Por never bird was known 
To loop the loop, or dare to try 
At flying upside down. 

What is in then thia thinp," of life 
That bridges 'cross the space';? span; 
From earth to cloud or oci'X'i's width? 
Take off your hat to man. 

The Condor from the moun^^a'n top. 
Looks up in mild surprise; 
And there beholds with outstretched wing 
The master of the skies. 

And every other feathered bird 
That flies by day or night; 
Ivooks up at man and hails him 
As the king of speed and flight. 

The years by ages have rolled by, 
Bince man began to dream 
Of flight, and often did he try, 
To 1 uild an aeroplane. 



Eisrht. 



The world with folded arms stood back 
.\nd jeered at every plan; 
Its merit scorned, its pathwaj- blocked; 
Take off your hat to man. 

Science bow your head down low 

Nor lift it up agfain, 

Until you know — when a man thinks deep 

You cannot measure him. 

Many lessons man has learned. 

Their l:)eginning- only a dream 

Don't mock and jeer at works or thought 

Just remember the flying machine. 

— G. A. W 



TO A BETUEXED DOLLAR 

Yestei"day you belonged to one I know not, 

But today you are wholly mine; 

And those tiny silver feathers 

I've caressed another time. 

But to me this counts for nothing; 

There's a query in my brain. 

Where have you been since last I saw you? 

Is you past without a stain. 

I've wondered oft since you've been absent 

Where you lingered; and how long 

Before your jingle would be singing 

Unto me its silver song. 

Through the hands of many strangers, 

You've returned to me again; 

And the meeting brought me pleasure 

That excels the thrill of gain. 

Would that you could tell the story, 
How you journeyed far and near; 
Would it bring me joy and laughter 
Or but sadness and a tear? 
I'erhaps 'tis well >ou answer nothing, 
]''or there's sadness in all mirth; 
And through sorrow cometh gladness; 
I'll accept you at jour worth. 



— G. A. W. 

Nine. 



TWO EOADS 

Remember well my reader friend, 
As your way you onward wend 
Through this world of stress and strife; 
All's not here there is of life. 

That after life has once begun. 
Thru countless ages it will run; 
And as you make it here, 'twill be 
The same throughout eternity. 

And if in the spring of youth. 
You've ever loyal been to truth; 
And followed in the paths of right. 
Heaven's lamp will be your light. 

But if instead, you've courted vice. 
So surely you will pay the price 
When all your purchasing is o'er: 
And sometimes you must pay before. 

Dame folly doth feel quite secure. 
And knowing credit is a lure. 
Extends it often, unto men; 
That she might obtain hold on them. 

And once within her mighty grasp 
'Tis very few her hands unclasp; 
She weaves a net of magic spell 
Around a man, which leads to hell. 

The walks that lead unto her door. 

Are trod alike by rich and poor; 

There wit and mirth both wend their way; 

And unto her their homage pay. 

Strong men, brave men, have often walked 
Into her snare, and loudly talked 
About her winning ways of grace; 
Their lives were lost to wickedness. 

Ah! Come with me and follow them, 
These imen who might have been real men. 
And on the burnished walls of fame 
Modeled and carved themselves a name. 

How great the number beneath the sod 
Are buried where? — In the field of blood* 
In that lone forsaken burial spot, 
Man and his wit is soon forgot. 
* — Potters field. 



Ten. 



.And many an unknown gravp doth keep, 
The memory of those who fell asleep, 
Rei using- to even speak the name 
Of friend or foe, because of shame. 

All these are gone, they counted naught 
While here on earth, except to blot 
The lives of many a Aveaker one. 
Who in their footsteps followed on. 

If, on history's pag-es their name f^ppears, 
You'll find it linked with only tears. 
The heartaches of a world have shed 
Because they lived; not that they're dead. 

I trust you've seen enough to know. 
That vice is an expensive show; 
Her slittering-, shining, dazzling way 
Leads to, but darkness — ^day by day. 

A life once lived, can not retrace 

A step, nor deed erase; 

There's just two roads, remember well; 

One leads to heaven, the other, hell. 



-G. A. W 



37.4 .Y 

The earth exists within, and is 
I'art of a systematic plan. 
Of nature's own construction 
For the benefit of man. 

And here he dwells, the king of all 
That treads upon the sphoie: 
The powers of reason, thought and speech 
Proclaim he is the peer. 

Within him .Justice lifts its scales 
Goncience. rules the judgment seat; 
Memory bring her treasures down, 
Will, and the trio meet. 

No other living creature 

Betwixt the earth and skies; 

Can comprehend the ways of man, 

Or boast such factulties. 

He is the chosen vessel. 

The Maker's finished dream; 

And of Heaven's Royal discourse. 

The topic and the theme. -O. A. V\ 



Eleven. 



SUCCESS 

Note: Written in Reference to My Fi'iend, 
Mr. Jacob Ashcrat't. 

Nature in her kindness bestowed with lavish hand 

Upon you a gift, and an unfinished task; 

That you may quietly persistence lend. 

And seek the answer to the questions she would ask. 

The hands of years repeatedly, have moved around 
And brushed the face of time with many a caress. 
Since she looked in upon the scene; 
And there beheld you filled w^th eag-erness. 

Scarce had you began, or the echo of her footsteps 

plain 
Had ceased to fall upon your ear with solemn tread, 
You thought the g-oal in sig-ht; 
And oft thru hours of night your answer to her read. 

Sometimes she seemed to listen, her patience 
Hung, or seemed to hang on ever.s' word; 
Your efforts praised she showed you then, 
Wherein j'our vision had been blurred. 

With golden hopes she led j'ou on, and mountains 
Appeared as only ant-hills in your v/ay; 
Incessant toil has wrought the question's answer. 
Experience has been your only pay. 

But had gold iheen heaped about you 
The yellow glittering horde would only make you poor. 
Compared unto the wealth by modest quiet stealth 
You now possess in wisdom — quite secure. 

We must not ba.=;e success o'!^ silver or on gold. 
For greed the motive is. behind the plan 
That reaches out to wealth, with thought of only self; 
And often steals his virtue from the man. 

Real success, like real virtue does not wear a gaudy 

g-own 
And parade before the people as a show. 
But unto the path of right — Wisdom's eve.r-ready light 
Shines success, upon the one who walks below. 

— G. A. W. 



I^v^elve. 



DEAD OR SLEEPISG? 

In silence I stand beside this mound, 
And wonder if my presence here 
(s known by you or if in expectancy 
You've awaited my drawing- near. 

Youi- name in oft repeated echoes 
Falls back upon the ear, but still — 
No answer greets, no form appears 
And silence only, lingers with a chill. 

This marble with its inscription plain 
Pays silent tribute — its face I read; 
The lettei-s boldly proclaim unto the world. 
Dear one, that thou are dead. 

Oil can you not stei) back across the vale 
For just a moment; And assurance give 
Though this life is past and gone 
Departed here, that somewhere yet you live? 

I listen with quickening breath to catch 
The faintest echo or word from thee; 
All senses alert await the faintest sound, 
But silence only greets me. 

In life, a single word would summon 

.\ resjMmse and welcome cheer; 

A\'ith laughing liji.*, youi- \\ords as soft 

As moonlight waves would float upon the air. 

Your p)'esence then. left no unbroken link 
In the chain of living facts, the end 
T now find here; and faith's fire too cool 
The severed piece to mend. 

\Vords of sym'pathy do not give comfort, 
Thev only serve the attention to divert, find peace 
No longer stays than time requires their utterance 
When their vibrant echoes cease. 

T stand beside your tomb and cry aloud, 
T kneel and bov.' uncovered head; 
My tears drop down but fail to move 
The voiceless lips of unreplying dead. 

Ah Death! seem.=: as if this were victory. 
T^or yon within thf^ confines of your grasp, 
Hold all, except the stings of pain. 
Left in the pathwav of your asp. 

— G. A. W. 

Thirteen. 



WHICH IS BEST 

Which is best, to live and die 

Unknowing- and unknown; 

With but a few to miss your presence 

And fewer still to care; 

Or seek through years of struggle, to gain 

Within the courts of wisdom's throne, a chair? 



The road upon which the sage journeys 

At the last turn 

Bends doiwnward to the end; 

And paralells the beggars path; 

Both to Death Descend; — • 

Whether roses upon life's highway grew, 

Or thorns interlaced across the road 

That reaches from the cradle to the grave, 

It matters not; for life doth ever goa^ 

Us onward; And we must haste 

To make room for others 

We cannot waste a moment, 

There is no stopping place 



The thing called life, forced upon us; 

"We value much, but yet 

We've not the choice 

To keep it long; it must be spent. 

Tis sad in either case not our consent. 

For many weep that they must die. 

And not a few that they must live 

The latter can't be counted on for much. 

But since the fate of all is Death — 
Eternal Death — without awakening; 
The efforts man puts forth 
Amount to naught; for time 
Will declare them obsolete 
And as the moon behind a cloud 
Is hid, they fade from sight 
And lose their worth. 

The very few — whom life has favored 

Appear as great a little while; 

'Tis only temporary beams 

Their stars of life shine out. 

The century-wheel will turn 

But few times 'till they're forgotten. 



Fourteen. 



Most of us ilo not enjoy knowledge 
Of our great-grand-father's name; 
And no doubt when our children 
Live to be grand-fathers 
These will be the same 
In regards to us; the greater number 
Of the race is forgotten when 
Weeds tower ranks and deep 
Over the place on earth's bosom 
Wherein we lie asleep. 



The moisture from tears shed 

At the departure of loved ones; 

Appears to hold the germ 

Upon which the seeds of forgetfulntss thrive 

This makes life a losing fight; 

We wMn only w^hile alive, 

All things considered, weighed; 

And subjected to the test 

Are just an even balance; 

Each must for himself decide 

Which way is best. 

— G. A. W. 



THE NURSE 



An angel of mercy and kindness, 
She toils all day and all night. 
Removing the stings from the pillow 
Making the heavy heart light. 



The suffering of patient and loved onej 
Is the burden she has to bear; 
Yet hers is the duty forever 
To Irive away trouble and care. 



Her feet with wnll steps measure 
The distance from danger and fear 
To recovery's road; and with pleasure 
She greets its drawing near. 



-G. A. W. 
Fifteen. 



FLOWERS 

All the beauties of color worked into a scheme, 
Which baffle« man's attempt to reproduce, 
Are found in flowers — ^AU efforts, iwhen 
Compared to Nature's canvas-vain excuse. 

They speak a sublime message to each and all. 
Some words of comfort give; 
'iheir petals more spotless than the snow; 
Whisper of Purity and Life and Love. 

Some were twisted into His sermon, by the Savior, 
While here on earth He lived and loved and taug-ht; 
And ever since — the g-ems of mankind's writing's, 
Have been termed — the poesies of thought. 

What can excel the beauty of the Lillies? 
As on the water's bosom they repose; 
Or stir the half-awakened fires that kindle. 
By the redness and the perfume of the rose. 

Did you ever have a voice v^^ith words of wisdom, 
Enchant .\'ou while you lingered near the spot — 
And looking- down, behold as if in warning-; 
The blue-eyed, sweet forg-et-me-not? 

Tn fields disfigrured by many a shot and shell. 
Where lives were spent in noble sacrifice; 
And Liberty was purchased — unto the world 
The Poppies' crimson gk>w bespeaks the price. 

The Daisies eyes unfold their lids in springtime. 
When tears of April's rain have made them wet; 
And Johnny-Jump-Up on tlie hill appears. 
As if in search of modest Violet. 

The Orchid leads the maid unto the altar 

Love beckoning'; so resolute and brave; 

And Pansy-cherished thoughts — in memory linger, 

'Till Lily holds the hand Ibeside the g^rave.' 

Do not, with selfish motive stoop to pluck them. 
Nor tramnle down with hurried careless tread 
The flowers; they with words of love and wisdom; 
Speak the languag-e of the living and the dead. 

— G. A. W. 



Sixteen. 



HEAVEN 

Eternal home for spirits fled, 
From lives whose every deed 
Bespoke their love of duty; 
The sinners greatest need. 

A world beyond this vale of teairf, 
In which a city fair; 
Swing-s out its gates in welcome; 
To immortals g:oing there. 

And on its amethystine walls, 
The Jessamine doth bloom; 
The key of life unlocks the door, 
The time forever noon. 

Its seasons all are summer. 
The weather ever fair; 
No blasting chill of winter. 
Has ever entered there. 

The only law is order. 
Obedience the rule; 
The master and the teacher. 
A scholar in the school. 

Each happv shining- forehead. 
Has bathed in the Spring of Youth; 
And overv lip has kissed the ru)). 
Which holds the draught of truth. 

Death's hand will never beckon, 
Nor time, his sickle thrust 
Within the gates of Heaven 
Where live the truly just. 

This is a home eternal 
Of love and peace and rest. 
Ivet's strive to gain its portal 

And live forever, blest. ,^ ^ ,,, 

— G. A. \V . 



Seventeen. 



TRUTH 

The world piles a mass of words 
Around a given theme; 
And calls it truth, until someone 
Upsets the cherished dream. 

Oreat minds with words of magic wit. 
Spurt forth in eloquence 
New theories and prove they do agree 
With so-called common sense. 

But strange it seems, no matter 
AVhat all the great minds say; 
Their common sense of yesterday 
Js foolishness today. 

They stagger 'round in eager search 
Ul)on the shore of thought; 
For Truth, that gem of priceless worth; 
For which the world has sought. 

We find them single handed, 
We find them grouped in bands, 
And though the ocean's at their feet 
They linger on the sands. 

And nere they build play houses. 
To stand the test of years. 
The wise and foolish both applaud, 
And greet these men with cheers. 

Then loud and long they talk and teach 
The new discovered rule; 
Until another on the beach 
Erects a better school. 

Like sand houses built by children 
Too near the water's main, 
The ocean swells and then recedes 
The sands fall back again. 

They rest almost in the selfsame place 
As before the children played; 
And from the same old sand, again 
A new house will be made. 

They'll name it Truth, and swear it is; 
And prove by its design, the rest 
Were wrong, but this new one 
Will stand the test of time 

^-nd thus 'twill be as sure as age 
The outgrowth is of youth: 
Man will play at the water's edge 
And ever seek for truth. 



— G. A. W. 



Eighteen, 



THE BEST BOY 

I know a man who was a boy 

A long, lons" time ago; 

I wish I might have known him then. 

Such boys do -seldom grow. 

He always went to Sunday school 
And learned his lesson well; 
From truth he never went astray. 
He would no falsehood tell. 

His mother found him close at hand 
AVhen there was work to do; 
He never shirked a single task. 
Nor stopped till he was through. 

He didn't cry when he got hurt, 
Just stood it like a man: 
And nevei- swore when he got mad 
Never even said — mill dam. 

He seldom took the time to play, 
And when he did, liis toys 
At once were quickly put away. 
And never made a noise. 

He helped his sisters when he could, 
And never teased his brother. 
At last he grew to be a man 
And then he married mother. 



— G. A. VV. 



HELL 

Not a firey furnace of brimstone, 
Tn which the unrighteous shall dwell 
But to lose one's respect and friendship; 
To gain one's ill-will, is hell. 

To play a good game, and then lose it, 
To fall where a weaker one fell; 
Or a friend to become your b-etrayer. 
Is hell — reader friend — really hell. 

— G. A. W. 



Nineteen. 



THE SCULPTOR 

The treasure of the marble clifl, 
Is the Sculptor's finished dream; 
Wrought into a figure 
So lifelike and serene. 

He breathes upon the unhewn rock, 
Ana Lo! with grace of form; 
Into the world of life and thought, 
A hero is reborn. 

It "stands before the critic's gaze 
Unmoved by tears or frown; 
No sneers of scorn or words of praise 
Can tear the statue down. 

The world walks by, and looks upon 
Those heroes born of stone. 
They praise the art and handiwork. 
The Sculptor is unknown. 

They seldom seek to learn his name. 
Their praise stops where the marble stands, 
The Sculptor's thought, the Sculptor's brain 
Deserves more credit than his hands. 

Mankind can never pay the debt 
We owe unto these men; 
Then let us strive to not forgetr 
Our duty unto them. 



— G. A. W 



TO A DAISY 

I've plucked you from vour resting place, 

I hold you in my hand; 

And gaze with wonder at your form. 

But do not understand 

What you are, or why you came; 

Nor why you go away; 

I only know that coming here 

You cannot always stav. 

— G. A. W. 



Twenty. 



JK MEMORY OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT 

Y(Ui li\e;l in an a.uo embitted l)y .strife, 

When the world called for freedom in tears, 

And the thoughts of your brain, along with your name; 

Will shine on the tablets of years. 

The race for some reason, presents but one man 
In a long stretch of time, it appears; 
To point a great nation to solid foundation 
And wrest from its i)eople, their fears. 

Your courage and wisdom in tinie of great need, 
Your wielding of sword and of pen; 
Re-wrote to a people, that "All men are equal" 
And moulded a nation of men. 

Reviewing the years of your life's sweet engagement, 

Behold they are filled with valorous deeds; 

And long ere death beckoned, with her you had 

reckoned; 
But followed the pathway, to where glory leads. 

In life's early Autumn the gateway was opened, 
Ycur Spirit released from the body soon fled; 
Without a misgiving we adored you while living, 
^\'e ch' rish .your memorv since vou are dead 

— G. A. W. 



Twenty-one. 



THE RIVER OHIO 

Peaceful, silent, silvery stream 
That flows forever on; 
Your rythmic beat alike doth greet 
The twilight and the dawn. 

The hills majestic mark your course. 
For you must flow between; 
Your waters blue present to view. 
The grandeur of the scene. 

The years danced on your rippling waves 
As time her carols sung; 
Man's form grows old — becomes a mould. 
But you're forever young. 

Times hand adds beauty to your form, 
With Nature's ready pen; 
Should age erase one line of grace 
She'd write it o'er again. 

your flash beneath the noonday sun. 
Excels the sparkling gems, 
The Angels fair v/ith loving care; 
Wreathe into diadems. 

And as your waters onward glide. 
Toward the silent sea; 
Your silvery song will still ring on 
Throughout eternity. 

Of all the streams in all the lands. 
Which man has learned to know; 
You're blest and dressed with beauty best; 
My beautiful Ohio. 



Twenty-two. 



THE INDIAN 

A fast dissappearing- race, 

Fushed from the banks of time; 

The hand of progress marked his doom, 

This patriarch Divine. 

Within a country all his own, 
His voice ignored unheard. 
The law of mig-ht his master is; 
It made of him a ward. 

At first the pale face was a God. 
The red man really thought; 
And treated him as such, until 
He proved that he was not. 

He tried with treaties then to gain 
The friendship of this man. 
But after many sad attempts 
Was forced to quit the plan. 

The White man's rifle drove him back. 
And robbed him of his home; 
His family starved, in winter's storms 
Provisions they had none. 

The paleface tricks out-ran his wit, 
He was worse off than before. 
As a last resort, to save himself; 
The Indian went to war. 

The white man's numbers won the day 
And placed on him the blame; 
He murdered, burned and plundered; 
But the white man did the same. 

A remnant only, now is left 
Of any tribe or clan, 
Forg-iving all, they ask us, treat 
The Indian as a man. 



Within a land whose government 
Proclaims all rhen are free: 
The Indian asks, with the foreigner 
To have equality. 

He loves this land, his native home. 
Would die for it today; 
Give him his rights, don't hesitate. 
Let right — not might — hold sway. 



— G. A. W. 
Twenty-three. 



Cop>right. October, 1919. 
Bv G. A. WHITE. 



LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 




018 477 436 7 • 



Majority, *^^^ WheelinK 



